


don't leave, i just need a wake up call

by intoxicatelou



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Bed-sharing, Canon Divergent FFH, Drunk Peter Parker, Hand Jobs, Heavy Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Peter Parker has PTSD, Phone Calls, Rape Recovery, References to Underage, Semi-Public Sex, heavy angst but with a hopeful ending, mention of rape/non consensual sex, please be advised!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-12-28 10:24:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21135185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intoxicatelou/pseuds/intoxicatelou
Summary: “But I’m no hero,” Peter says, indignant and sounding far too sober all of a sudden, no longer slurring his words. “I promised I would protect you and you died. And then in Prague, it was my fault. It was all my fault. Everything went wrong.I did this to myself.”Or, the one in which it takes Tony terribly long to find out.





	don't leave, i just need a wake up call

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LearnedFoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/gifts).

> LF, thank you for your wonderful requests! Writing this has been a true wonder, much different from what I'm usually used to. As someone with PTSD, working on this story was actually super cathartic, and I wouldn't have gotten there if it wasn't for your awesome letter/prompts. Thank you again for inspiring me <3
> 
> In terms of the canon this fic takes place in, I kind of did some handwavy things to FFH in order to fulfill the recovery after abduction tag. The MJ/Peter relationship never really moved past its platonic stage for that reason. Also I ignored the identity reveal part at the end of FFH as well. 
> 
> title is a line from "the greatest" by Lana Del Rey which i looped constantly while writing this
> 
> big love to my beta dina for helping me clean this up and constantly being a ray of light in my life!
> 
> *redated for author reveals*

_ Not the war, but the part just after, _   
_ when a great stillness whose beauty we’d have _   
_ missed, possibly, had we instead _   
_ been spared, hovers over the ruins. _

_ — _Carl Phillips

_ When the wound _   
_ is deep, the healing is heroic. _

_ — _Terrance Hayes

+

When Tony wakes up, re-born to a world he brought back, Peter isn’t there. 

Instead, Tony blinks into the sharp lights of the medical bay to see Pepper standing by his bedside, her hand loose in his palm. 

He tries not to flinch at the missing wedding ring. 

It’s only later, after Morgan has hugged him with all the power of her almost six year old body , after Pepper has talked extensively, painfully, about the non-negotiable divorce, about _ Tony you died, I saw you die—I can’t come back from this, _that Tony stares at a sunrise of a city no longer sinking in dust and asks FRIDAY to call Peter Parker. 

Tony had no idea what to expect but it most definitely wasn’t this. _ Hey it’s Peter, I’m not um at the phone right now. You know what to do. I’ll do my best to get back to you. _The beep is jarring and it takes him a second too long to find his voice. 

_ I’ll do my best to get back to you. _ Tony swallows, the irony of the words swirling around him like the air on Titan, and says instead, _ Hey kid, I’m awake. Doing well, Dr. Cho said other than a little bit of physical therapy, I should be peachy keen, so don’t stress about visiting. But if you’d like to, a jet is on call. Just let me know. A pause. This is Ton-Mr. Stark, by the way_. 

It feels silly to add that on at the end, because it’s been years, _ years, _ and it’s not like Peter would forget him, even though the coma had taken almost six months. Besides, despite everything, it’s _ Peter. _ They both had understood the promise, before the dust, before Tony had caved and gotten back with Pepper, before everything had come rushing towards them in full force. _ I’m not leaving, _ Peter had pressed into the corner of his mouth, freshly sixteen and braver than Tony could ever imagine being. 

It had been August, and in retrospect, Tony should’ve known throwing Peter’s birthday party at the tower, pulling out all the stops for the kid’s sixteenth, would garner him a level of adoration greater than usual. He knew about the hero-worship, couldn’t look past it especially when Tony had brought up _ The Sweet Sixteen, got any plans? _ weeks before, and Peter made it clear how adamant he was about spending his birthday tinkering with nanotech in the tower rather than partying it up with his friends. _ I can see them later, Mr. Stark. And I know you’ve got that business trip coming up and I just _ — _ I don’t want to lose time with you, _ he’d stammered before adding, _ a-a-and our project, because we’ve made such good progress and it would suck to not finish it, especially with school starting soon and _—

The kid rambled until Tony had shut him up, with a quick, _ You made your point, kid. If the lab makes you happy, by all means, spend your birthday with me. _

Some part of Tony had expected it, and even though he’d already planned on surprising Peter with a hand tailored Tom Ford suit and KAREN upgrades, he knew it wouldn’t hurt to throw the kid a birthday party, too. It was another gift, but one he’d cleared with May, Ned, and even Peter’s scary friend, MJ. 

Once he’d secured the approval, Tony held nothing back. Elaborate decorations, gourmet five course dinner, rooftop dance floor, not to mention having Rhodey show up in the suit, which Peter had all but cried over. It was expensive, but Tony could care less. It was pocket change to him. And after that night, Tony was just about certain he’d do anything to get to see Peter smile like that, dancing to Lady Gaga, the entire city glittering in the background. 

Long after the guests had left and it was just Peter and him on the rooftop, the kid had finally asked _ Could I stay over Mr. Stark? May said it was okay because it’s late. _ Tony answered, _ Of course, kid, _ his palm warm on Peter’s shoulder, trying not to notice the sliver of skin peeking out from where Peter had pulled his tie loose, unbuttoning the top button of his dress shirt. Peter had blushed then, glowing pink as Tony’s eyes betrayed him anyway, dipping to his lips unconsciously, his mind unable to catch itself. It had barely been a second before the alarm bells kicked in, but by then Peter had stepped forward. _ Mr. Stark, Can I _ — _ please, _Peter mumbled, face almost red as his hands cupped Tony’s jaw before kissing him for the very first time, tasting so sweetly of birthday cake. 

In the first few days after he wakes up, Tony replays the memory of that night over and over again, and finds himself hearing Peter’s voice in the quiet of the medical bay more often than he’d like to admit. _ I want to stay here forever, _ Peter had whispered, body sated, looking like a miracle, hair wet from the post-sex shower. _ Me too, _ Tony imagined himself saying, _ Me too, you have to know. _

In reality, the memory cuts off and Tony knows he didn’t say anything when he had the chance because the guilt mattered back then. The guilt was half the battle, and then Thanos came along. Tony had a shift of perspective on Titan, but by then it was too late. Peter had vanished, and Tony had spent years staring at his hands, dreaming of another life in which they’d won. 

There’d been a moment on the battlefield, when Tony had finally done something right, and Peter had swung into the war, not a single hair out of place. _ Hold me, _Tony had choked out, armored arms tight around Peter’s frame. Tony wanted to kiss him, wanted to lick the taste of sweat and dirt and Titan away until it was just Peter, just the kid who Tony had stupidly fallen in love with over the good years. 

And no matter the guilt, Tony would admit it had been good. There’d been the travelling, the hours in the lab, the weekends Peter would spend stretched out in all his lithe beauty on Tony’s california king, biting his lip and begging _ Mr. Stark. _Tony knows he has the footage saved somewhere in FRIDAY’s servers, but can’t bring himself to find out because it’s day 17 and Peter still hasn’t called. 

Tony leaves him a handful of voicemails, almost all stilted versions of the original one. When Dr. Cho finally clears him off bed rest, he drinks his way through half a bottle of expensive scotch before dialing Peter again. _ Kid, _ Tony slurs to Peter’s answering machine, _ I miss you so much. Where’d you go? Come home. Please, baby. _

Even then, the silence remains. If it wasn’t for Fury forwarding Peter’s patrol reports, Tony would be more worried. At least Spider-man’s doing okay, even though Tony no longer knew about the man underneath the mask.

+

At the month mark, Tony stops calling altogether. 

In the meantime, Tony works to piece back the time he lost. Some things have stayed the same. The government is still a mess, Fury is still Fury (except that one time he was an alien), and Twinkies have not made a miraculous comeback. Other things are newer; specifically, May and Happy’s romance and how Morgan can read and now identifies as a proud Gryffindor, already on the fifth Harry Potter book. His marriage had died with him, and Tony feels like he’d caught the general gist from the stilted conversations he’d had with Pepper. The Avengers have been pretty quiet, those that had survived anyway, aside from Peter’s stint with EDITH and Quentin Beck in the summer. The field report is unsettling, and he makes a note to ask Peter about it. That is, if he ever calls. 

He isn’t cleared to fly just yet but gets Dr. Cho to grant him workshop privileges after much needling that he won’t keel over and burn himself on an open torch. Pepper officially moves out of the tower but drops Morgan off on the weekends, and Tony looks forward to the playdates with each passing week. She really is brilliant, and he hates that he almost lost a year of seeing his little girl grow up. Tony hasn’t thought about his mother in years, but sometimes when Morgan laughs, he swears he can see Maria Stark smiling back. 

+

Peter does call, eventually. 

It’s a late November weekend, and Tony almost thinks he dreams FRIDAY’s smooth voice cutting into his bedroom, _ Sir, Peter Parker is calling, _doesn’t even put a shirt on before sitting up in the dark and giving her the command to answer. 

He’d been half dozing, tasting ash and blood, his limbs tight. He takes a second to catch his breath as FRIDAY patches Peter through. 

“Hey kid,” Tony begins, doing his best to keep his voice from wavering. It’s been so long since he’s heard Peter’s voice. Tony thought he’d imagined every possible scenario in which he would hear him again. When Peter’s drunk giggle pours into the room, Tony thinks he might’ve miscalculated. 

“Ohmygod Mr. Stark. _ Mr. Stark.” _

“The one and the only,” Tony tries, keeping his tone light. He can distantly hear music in the background. “How’s my favorite arachnid doing?” 

“I’m good. _ So good _ . Wow.” Peter hiccups before dissolving into another fit of giggles, “ _ You’re not dead! _” 

“Yep. Not dead. Very much living.” Tony answers and can’t help himself from asking, “I don’t know if you got my message —” 

“I got your message. Messages,” Peter slurs, cutting him off. “Didn’t listen to them though.”

“Oh.” Tony can’t help the disappointment from seeping into his voice. 

“Mr. Stark, are you mad? Did I make you mad?” Peter asks, and Tony can imagine his tipsy pout too clearly, having kissed it away once or twice.

“Kid, it’s just voicemails. They don’t mean anything. I just thought —” Tony’s voice cracks, despite his best efforts, “Maybe you’d want to know if I was okay.” 

“_ I do want to know _,” Peter whispers, and Tony’s heart blooms but it's only for a second because Peter lets out a ugly laugh, “But it’s better this way. If I pretend that I don’t.” 

“_ Kid. _” Tony doesn’t know what else to say, “Peter, come on.” 

“Mr. Stark, _ This is better. _ You deserve better. I’m _ terrible _, Mr. Stark. You were gone. You don’t know the things I’ve—” Peter takes a sharp breath, and Tony realizes with a cold feeling that he’s crying. 

“Peter, you aren’t terrible. You’re the best person I know. Kid, just because you’re a super-hero doesn’t mean you can’t unwind the way the rest of us do.” 

Peter just takes another shuddering sniffle. 

“But I’m no hero,” Peter says, indignant and sounding far too sober all of a sudden, no longer slurring his words. “I promised I would protect you and you died. And then in Prague, it was my fault. It was all my fault. Everything went wrong. _ I did this to myself _.” 

“Kid, what are you talking about?” Tony asks, confused at the hard edge in Peter’s voice. 

“I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t, Tony, you’ve got to believe me—” Peter sobs, and Tony’s pulse leaps into his throat. 

“Peter, where are you? I can be in Boston in an hour, just tell me an address, sweetheart.” Tony’s already standing up, pulling on a shirt. His stitches protest but he could care less about the doctor's orders. 

“N-No, Tony, it’s okay, you don’t have to. I’m fine, _ I’m fine. _” Peter stutters, and Tony imagines him wiping his eyes with his sleeves.

“You’re not fine, kid. You don’t sound fine. I know I wasn’t there for you this summer, but, Peter, whatever happened, we can talk about it.” Tony tries, but Peter cuts him off. 

“We can’t Tony, _ we can’t talk about it. _ This was a mistake. God, _ fuck _ ,” Peter curses, and Tony hears a crash on the other end.  
  
“Peter? Peter, are you okay?” Tony’s all but ready to materialize his nanotech and blast off.

“I’m f-fine. Sorry, just walked into my desk. I’m d-drunk,” Peter sniffles and Tony’s heart breaks all over again.

“_ Peter _, please. Kid, just let me help—” Tony murmurs, soft and desperate. 

“_ I said I’m fine! _” Peter’s voice is hoarse, raw from tears, ”Nothing happened. Don’t worry about me. It’s all okay, Mr. Stark.” 

“Peter—”

“Don’t call me again,” Peter chokes out, “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark.” 

The sudden silence jars Tony and for a second he sits there, his ears ringing. He feels his skin thrum with the beginning of a panic attack. 

Tony barely makes it to the shower, the hot spray doing little to stop the burn of his lungs, the well of tears. _ Everything went wrong, _ Peter had said, _ I’m sorry, Mr. Stark _ and Tony digs his nails into his palm, thinks about Titan, and last words, and how _ I’m sorry, Mr. Stark _ will always hurt, an apology laced in dust. _ I was too late, I didn’t save us in time, _ Tony thinks just as the dark at the edge of his vision tugs him under, his head hitting the porcelain of the tub as he passes out. 

+

Peter doesn’t call again. Tony knows better than to wait around. 

He spends a week in the workshop, not-sleeping, binging on scotch and coffee, as he works on a new proto-type for a Stark reactor for their development group. Pepper stops in on day seven, but can’t force him to leave. She drops off the bag of takeout on his workbench with a stern look before leaving, and Tony makes it through three bites of kung pao chicken before the nausea overtakes him again. _ Don’t call me again, _ Peter’s voice still rings loud even in the silence of Tony’s life, _ This is better. You deserve better. You were gone. _

“FRIDAY, pull up all the files on Prague.” The room fills with pictures of Peter and the disarming grin of Quentin Beck, shaking hands as Fury looks solemn in the background. Tony frowns, skipping ahead to watch via EDITH as Peter catches the bullet and Quentin takes one last breath. It’s the date that gets him. Between the first picture and the last there are at least three weeks of unaccounted footage. No phone trace, no video, no photographs. Tony even codes a new searching operation, thinking that FRIDAY’s protocols have overlooked the dark underbelly of SHIELD’s files, all of which Tony isn’t supposed to have access to but does anyway. Still nothing. It’s as if they both disappeared in Prague, vanished up until the final fight in London. 

He reads and re-reads Peter’s mission report, of course, the crease in his brow only furrowing further. _ Parker insists he was hiding in the Netherlands, waiting Beck out while regrouping off the radar. He did not inform SHIELD of this decision, and so our agents assumed he had been compromised, especially after procuring the footage from one of Beck’s drones which shows Parker being hit by a moving train [See Clip 13-A]. _

The first time Tony watches the video, his left hand doesn’t stop shaking for hours. The second time isn’t any easier. The audio is spotty, so Tony has no idea what Beck must have said to have Peter flinch back like that, right into the path of the moving train, sixth sense be damned. 

_ When asked in his second debrief to provide more information on his stay in the Netherlands, Parker refused to comment, stating, “I told you I was undercover. I was waiting him out. It all worked out in the end, he’s dead now.” He left shortly after that comment, citing a need to study on a Spanish quiz. SHIELD did not receive any more information about the matter from Parker, nor could they retrieve any more data about Parker and Beck’s whereabouts during the three weeks in between the attacks. The only information we have is a call that Peter placed to Happy Hogan from a stranger’s phone in the Netherlands, which Hogan has said was “just the kid asking for help.” _

Tony calls Happy again to ask if Peter had told him anything about where he’d been. 

“One second,” Happy yawns, because of course Tony didn’t look at the time before calling, already a couple glasses in. There’s some slight shuffling, the creak of a bed, and Tony’s pretty sure he hears May’s voice asking who in the world is calling at this hour. _ It’s just Tony, honey _Happy says, before telling her to go back to sleep. 

“I don’t really know Boss, he didn’t say much. Other than he’d been hiding out because he messed up and he needed the jet. I remember he was in bad shape when I showed up in the tulip field, needed stitches and kept asking if I was real. When we made it back after London, he wouldn’t even tell May much about it. We were all worried for a while. Especially May, you know how she gets.” Happy rambles, “But then they let him graduate early, and you know how MIT gave him that full scholarship. We told him he didn’t have to go, but he wanted to get his life started. Reminded me a bit of you actually. Have you heard from him? ” 

“Thanks Hap. But I haven’t. Makes sense, the kid is probably busy with school and all that,” Tony manages to say before hanging up, wishing Happy a good night. 

Tony has so many questions. Stitches? Peter must’ve been seriously hurt in order for his super-healing to not kick in immediately. If he’d been “hiding”, why didn’t he call Happy earlier? Tony knows Peter was smart enough to figure out how to set up a secure line. 

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the kid’s been lying to SHIELD. What Tony wants to know is _ why? _He’s spent countless sleepless nights struggling to find something which might give a clue to what exactly happened to Peter in those three weeks. Beck was a narcissistic sociopath with anger issues, which is exactly why Tony had fired him all those years ago, but at the end of the day, he was just a man. He didn’t have an ounce of the strength Peter had. 

It just doesn’t make sense, but Tony needs to know. He can’t get Peter’s voice out of his head, drunk and crying about something Tony should’ve been there to help him through. There’d been a time when Tony knew everything about Peter, knew the kid’s go-to take-out order, what Spanish quiz he was so sure he’d failed, and how his hair stuck up in the morning.He knew the kid didn’t drink straight caffeine after that one time he’d tried it and couldn’t manage to unstick himself from the ceiling in the lab because of how riled up he’d been. _ Overstimulated, _is the word Peter had used, and so once he’d crawled down, Tony had taken him apart with his mouth only, kissing, licking, pressing sweet words into each crevice. It had worked like a charm, the heady orgasm he’d pulled from Peter leaving him sated, calm, and he’d fallen asleep in Tony’s arms not soon after. 

There was a time when Tony knew everything, and only loved him harder for it. Losing that is the deepest wound. Even in the wake of Peter’s silence, Tony doesn’t know how to stop caring, to stop wanting him. He thought he knew what it was like to miss Peter, has had five years of practice when he was sure the boy he loved would remain dust and only dust, but it’s almost worse knowing he’s out there, just a couple hours away, while Tony has never felt more alone. 

_ Do you miss me? _ Tony asks another empty bottle of scotch that night, take-out long forgotten. He replays the audio from when Peter called again and again. _ I do want to know, _ Peter’s voice rings loud, _ I do want, I do, I do _and Tony wishes he could believe him. 

+

Tony forgets about the Christmas party.

In the five years of the Blip, few people had been in the celebrating mood about anything. The company had taken obvious hits, and then, when they brought everyone back, there’d been his coma. Even the doctors weren’t sure he was going to make it.

So of course, he forgets about the Christmas party that is, until he walks up from the lab to grab another bottle from behind the mini-bar only to run into four very large men moving a Christmas tree far bigger than the Hulk into his living room. 

“Sorry Mr. Stark, Ms. Potts had us schedule the delivery,” one of them awkwardly responds as Tony stands there, an unopened bottle of whiskey in his hand. 

“Oh right, of course. I mean, it’s honestly just little ole me that lives here. I don’t think I need that big of a Christmas tree.” He pauses, staring at the green monstrosity. “But Morgan will probably love it. I’ll trust Pep on this one. Co-parenting all that. Anyway, carry on.” 

It isn’t until an hour later, when Pepper storms into his workshop tux in tow, that he realizes it isn’t for their quiet, familial Christmas at all. 

“The Christmas Party? Come on Tony, I sent the invitations months ago. It’s on your calendar. FRIDAY should’ve reminded you.” Pepper’s voice is slightly breathless, and her hair’s sticking up in the way that lets Tony know she’s got four other things to do right now rather than convince him to show up to his own company’s Christmas party. 

“I did remind you, Sir, but you snoozed the reminder because you were working on Project WHIP,” Friday’s voice says from the ceiling. 

“Project Whip? Are you making sex toys now? Is that why you haven’t been sleeping?” Pepper shakes her head and Tony rolls his eyes, grateful for his very elegant acronyms (What Happened in Prague) for disguising the truth, which would be even harder to explain. 

“Gotta boost sales somehow, Pep. And we both know sex sells.” Tony responds, nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Just show up to the party, please, Tony.” Pepper sighs, eyes pleading, and he begrudgingly takes the hanger from her hand. “It’s still your company.” 

“Well, since you’ve got me the outfit and everything. It’s at nine right?”

“_ Seven _, Tony. Seven. It’s in your living room. You can’t miss it. Please don’t be late.” Pepper says, still a little a shrill, before grabbing her things and walking to the elevator. 

“I’ll be there, Pep,” Tony waves her off, realizing it’s about time he took an actual shower. 

+

Tony arrives fashionably late by an hour—not so much that it’ll send Pepper into an aneurysm, but late enough for Tony to have already downed a glass of scotch while listening to Peter’s most recent patrol report, forwarded to him by Fury. It was a pretty standard voice memo, but Tony’s heart still skipped every time he heard, _ Hey it’s Peter here. _

The Stark Christmas Party is in full swing now that the world has been saved and the prodigal president is no longer under the threat of dying in his coma. Tony walks in and thinks he’s gotta hand it to Pepper, she really outdid herself with the planning, from the ceiling tall christmas tree to the obscenely large open bar. The tower has been transformed into a winter wonderland, glass snowflakes and star lights adorning the hallways. Pepper looks stunning, dressed in a white evening gown which hangs off her shoulders. 

It quickly becomes apparent why Pepper needs him there; not for the starstruck employees, but rather the flash of cameras, reporters nipping at Tony’s heel mere moments after he walks in. Tony is a businessman, he knows his coma has been bad optics for the company, even though it was a result of saving the world. But hey, it’s nothing some bullshit PR can’t fix. He fields the questions with a practiced ease, assuring them he’s healthy,happy, and here to stay as the President of Stark Industries. Some of the reporters have clearly taken advantage of the open bar, asking about the divorce, as if Pepper and him haven’t been very public and amicable about the whole affair. 

“Alright folks, I think we’re just about done for the night. I’ve got a party to attend—”

“One more, Tony! Tony! Do you know why Spider-man relocated to Boston? Was this a decision made by the Avengers? What’s Iron-Man’s take on losing our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man?” A guy in a blue shirt pushes forward past the wave of cameras and sticks his phone in Tony’s face. 

The dark, sinking feeling swells in his stomach immediately, but he manages to school his mouth into a grin. “We haven’t lost Spider-man. There’s plenty of neighborhoods that need protecting. Besides, you’ve got me back now, poor Boston’s got no-one. The least we could do is give them Spider-man.”

A couple of the reporters laugh, and Tony gives them one last dazzling smile, saying goodbye before turning around and walking fast through the crowd, pushing past the balcony doors till the first breath of cold Manhattan air hits him. He grips the railing of the balcony, letting his head hang over the edge, staring down at the tiny cars and ant-like people bustling about. 

“I hope you’re not thinking about jumping, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, and Tony’s head snaps up so fast he’s shocked he doesn’t give himself whiplash. Peter is just leaning against the railing, one hand cradling a flute of champagne as he turns to give Tony an easy smile. He taps his wrist, and Tony hears the clink of the web shooters hiding underneath the white of his dress shirt. “I’d just web you back up.”

Tony doesn’t know what to say, because he’s here. _ Peter Parker is here. _In front of him, dressed in sharp maroon slacks and a white dress shirt which fits like a glove over his broad shoulders, doing nothing to hide the curve of his biceps. He’s got a maroon tie pulled loose around his neck, the first few buttons of his shirt unbuttoned to show the smooth curve of his throat, all the places which Tony knew how to kiss once. 

Tony’s certain he has to be dreaming, he still hears the echo of a voice saying _ don’t call me again, _but when Peter takes a step closer, the memory sounds farther and farther way. 

“I wasn’t, for the record,” Tony swallows, “thinking of jumping.” 

“Good,” Peter says, giving Tony another easy smile, taking a sip of his champagne, “But, for the record, I’d catch you.” 

“You don’t have to do that, kid,” Tony says, and it comes out harder than he intends. “You don’t have to be nice to me.”

“_ Tony _ , _ ” _ Peter’s voice dips, “Come on.” 

Peter takes another step closer, finishing his champagne, and Tony’s knuckles turn white from where they grip the railing because there’s nothing he wants more than pull Peter in and kiss him hard. But after all the distance, the time and that terrible phone call, Tony needs to talk, wants to be responsible and do this right. 

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Tony manages, his mouth gaping as Peter drops the champagne flute over the balcony’s edge. 

“Happy invited May, who invited me, and, well, it’s not like I had any other plans for Christmas,” Peter says, giggling as if he hasn’t sent shards of grass sailing thousands of feet below. “Not to mention, your bartenders don’t card.” 

Peter leans in, and Tony can smell his cologne, the one he bought for him all those years ago, can see the tinge of wine on his pink lips. Peter’s tongue flashes out, and Tony’s eyes track the movement. 

“Peter—” Tony starts, not sure where he’s going with this, his self restraint fading fast as a loose curl falls onto Peter’s forehead, and Tony finds himself staring into those warm, brown eyes. He looks older, the soft skin underneath his eyes tinged violet as if he hasn’t been sleeping well. 

“I lied that night. I listened to all your messages. All of them. When you left me the first one, I ducked out of Intro Chem lab that morning to listen to it. Mr. Stark, I cried so hard. I didn’t know you’d make it and then you did. I wanted to see you, I wanted to be right here where you are.” Peter’s hand finds the edge of Tony’s tie, pulls Tony closer with a gentle tug and Tony follows the movement, his palm resting on Peter’s hip, their thighs almost touching. 

“Then why didn’t you?” Tony can’t stop himself from asking, searching Peter’s eyes. “There was a jet, I was waiting. Months, Peter. I just wanted to know if you were okay. Especially after that phone call, and what happened in Prague —” 

“Nothing happened in Prague,” Peter cuts in, his voice sharp, something hard clouding his eyes. 

“Kid, I read the files. There are at least three weeks where you were unaccounted for—” Tony doesn’t get a chance to finish because Peter kisses him then, pulling him down by his tie and pressing his whole body against him. Peter’s fingers wind through his hair and Tony can’t breathe, every thought thrown out the window because Peter’s kissing him, hard, nipping at his lower lip the way Tony taught him. Underneath the taste of champagne and something else bitter, it’s unmistakably Peter. 

“_ Fuck, _ ” Tony gasps, breaking away from the kiss, and Peter just pulls him closer, peppering kisses underneath his jaw, nimble fingers loosening his tie and unbuttoning his dress shirt. “Peter, _ baby, _we’re on the balcony.” 

“Don’t care, want you here, want you right now,” Peter murmurs, pressing an open mouthed kiss to his collarbone, and Tony’s hands grab his ass, pulling the boy flush against him. Peter groans, his already hard cock twitching in his dress pants, caught in the groove of Tony’s hip.

Tony captures his mouth again, kissing deep, licking inside his mouth. Peter keens, trapped between the balcony railing and Tony, hips grinding up against Tony’s own hardening cock.

The entire party is happening just behind them, and Tony can hear the jazz choir Pepper booked beginning their set. 

_ Silent night, holy night _

_ All is calm, all is bright _

None of it stops Tony from unzipping Peter’s dress pants and wrapping his hand around his cock, fisting it hard. “Mr. Stark_ , _ I’ve missed you so much, god _ , fuck _,” Peter cries, and Tony’s other hand finds its place in Peter’s curls, tugging sharply. 

“Look at you, so beautiful. Always so beautiful,” Tony breathes, taking in Peter’s lidded eyes, his back arching against the railing, cock drooling precome. 

Peter moans, his whole body shuddering to the praise, so responsive even after all this time. “I’m-close-so close, Tony_ , please, please.” _

Tony kisses him again, biting down his throat as his hand speeds up. “Peter, sweetheart, come for me. I want to see you.” 

It hardly takes a second, before Peter’s spilling into the space between them, a litany of _ Tony Tony Tony _falling from his lips. Tony works him through it, his own cock pressing uncomfortably against the seam of his pants, but he can deal with that later. It’s always been about Peter first. Peter, who once he finally catches his breath grabs Tony’s wrist, dark eyes fluttering as he licks his fingers clean. 

Tony’s cock twitches, and Peter’s eyes slip down to the bulge in Tony’s pants. “You could fuck me, Mr. Stark. Right here.” 

“Kid, as much as I’d like that, I think it might have some logistical problems,” Tony chuckles, even though for a flash of a second he considers it, before his higher brain function comes back online. 

“We don’t need anything, Mr. Stark. I can take it, I heal.” Peter smiles, pressing himself closer and Tony’s gut twists uncomfortably, the laughter dying in his throat. 

“Did I say the wrong thing?” Peter frowns, noticing Tony’s slight grimace. 

“Peter, you know it’s not the way I do things. I don’t ever want to hurt you,” Tony murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of Peter’s wrist. 

_ Sleep in heavenly peace, _

_ Sleep in heavenly peace _

It’s a small thing, barely a brush of his lips, but Peter’s whole body flinches in response and he staggers back. The feeling in Tony’s stomach worsens, and he reaches out one hand to steady Peter so he doesn’t trip. “Kid? Are you okay? Did you have a little too much to drink?” 

Peter’s eyes widen, tears pooling fast. “I’m s-sorry, I’m so sorry. Please don’t go, please don’t leave me here.” Peter stutters, scrubbing at his eyes, one hand holding the railing. 

Tony’s panic rises, but he tries to remain calm for Peter, one hand still wrapped around the boy. He should’ve really checked how much Peter had before they’d done anything; his spider biology never reacted well to too much alcohol. “Peter, Peter, hey look at me. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have anything to apologize for. It’s okay, it happens to the best of us.”

“I’m s-sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ll be better. I can do it better, I promise.” Peter’s eyes blink, and Tony can hardly recognize his glassy stare. His breaths are coming out in shorter and shorter gasps, and Tony knows a panic attack when he sees one. 

He feels the blood leave his face, seeing Peter shake like a leaf, crying so hard, he can hardly stand up straight. Tony wants to hold him, wants to fix this, but fixing it means admitting he knows what the problem is to begin with and Tony has had his suspicions, knows the kind of monsters men can become, but this is _ Peter, _his Peter, who he vowed to keep safe against all odds — 

“I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything, just please don’t hurt _ him. _ “ Peter sobs, and the railing creaks underneath his palms, metal crumpling like clay. “ _ Mr. Beck, _ please. _ ” _

Tony doesn’t mean to step back, but Peter’s looking at him with tears in his eyes, as if he doesn’t believe he’s real. Peter’s unsteady hands don’t let him get too far, pulling him close, fingers trying to unzip Tony’s pants. “Peter, Peter, it’s me. It’s Tony. Mr. Stark. Come on, kid, you don’t have to do this. Just breathe.” Tony’s voice shakes, sounds far away to his own ears, but Peter just drops to his knees, rubbing his tear-stained cheek against Tony’s thigh. 

“I can be good, let me try again._ I can be good. _” Peter hiccups, eyes fluttering. 

_ You are good, _ Tony wants to scream, _ You’ve always been so good. _ But he can’t find his voice, not until Peter’s hands go for his fly again and Tony breaks his own rule, and grabs Peter’s wrists hard. “Peter, _ Stop. _It’s me. The real me. I’m not him. I’m not Beck.”

Peter sniffles, voice cracking when he says, “You’re lying. You’re lying to me.” 

“I’m not. It’s me. Every year on the anniversary of Ben’s death, you write him a letter of what you wish you could tell him. You’ve kept each one, sealed in an envelope, in the small crack between your bed and the wall. Beck wouldn’t know that about you Peter, please. It’s me.” 

Tony remembers when Peter had told him that. It’d been right before Thanos had decided to show up on their doorstep. They’d been celebrating an almost-anniversary, and Peter had confessed, lying in the dark, drawing circles into Tony’s palms, voice barely a whisper, _ I miss him so much everyday… but I only actually let myself feel it once a year. And whatever’s left to say goes inside the envelope and I don’t look at it again. I’ve never told anyone that. But I thought you’d understand. _And Tony did, had held Peter when the tears inevitably came, had promised to be there from that day onward to hold him every time the world got too loud. 

Looking at Peter’s face, wet and afraid, Tony’s never hated himself more for breaking a promise. 

Peter’s body freezes as if his mind finally filters in Tony’s voice, “It’s you, _ it’s really you. _”

“It is, it’s me, baby. It’s me, Tony. Just breathe, okay?” Tony responds calmly, and Peter scrambles to his feet. 

“I’m s-sorry, Mr. Stark. I’m so — _woah. ” _He’s barely standing up, before he’s leaning forward, one palm grabbing his forehead, “I don’t really feel like—” Peter stutters, before lurching forward, eyes rolling to the back of his head. 

Tony catches him before he hits the balcony floor, his own blood rushing through his ears. 

+

Tony tells May it’s because Peter had one too many glasses of champagne and seriously they should probably start carding at these things, and even though she’s giggling into Happy’s sleeve, she manages to give one stern look to Tony which translates to _ if you harm one little hair on Peter’s head, I’ll show you the deepest circle of hell. _

Tony’s familiar with the look. 

Luckily Happy steers her away, letting Tony know that he can call them if Peter needs anything at all. Tony isn’t sure when the both of them became such a unit, and wonders how Peter feels about it. He just adds it to the list of questions he plans on asking the kid once he wakes up. 

“FRIDAY, status report on Peter?” Tony speaks into his watch as he watches Pepper turn out the last of the guests, the party finally dying down. It hadn’t been easy sneaking Peter into the back elevator, the one nearest to the balcony, but the commotion of the Christmas Jazz Choir had helped. While everyone was humming along to Frank Sinatra, Tony had hooked up Peter to an IV in the medical bay and had FRIDAY run a complete biometric scan to make sure the boy was stable. 

“BAC is still at 0.7%, but vitals are stable. He’s still sleeping, Boss.” 

“Thanks, Fri. Keep an eye on him.” Tony sighs, walking to the bar to grab another glass of scotch before heading upstairs. 

+

Tony wakes up to screaming, but it isn’t his own voice for once. 

“Stop. Stop. Please, Stop. It h-hurts - Please,_ ” _Peter cries, fingers tearing at the hospital sheets, his eyes still closed.

“Boss, pulse is 150 bpm and rising,” FRIDAY’s cool voice chimes in, and Tony springs to his feet, ignoring the sharp ache in his neck from sleeping in one of the less comfortable chairs they have in the medical bay. 

“Peter, you’re dreaming, kid, come on,” Tony says loudly, shaking Peter’s shoulders forcefully, “Just wake up, Come on, Peter. It’s just a nightmare, kid.” 

It takes a second, but Peter’s eyes fly open, already wet and red. He blinks rapidly, tears streaming down his face, and sits up so fast he almost headbutts Tony in the chin. 

“Hey, hey. Peter. It’s me. Tony. It’s me. You were having a nightmare.” Tony does his best to keep his voice level and calm, trying to keep his own fear and worry out of this. “You’re in the Tower in New York City. It’s December 25th. We were on the balcony when you fainted, and I brought you up here to sober up. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.” 

“I’m not safe,” Peter blurts out, crying harder, pushing his palms into his eyes. “I’ll never be safe again.” 

“Peter,” Tony tries, “Kid, come on, you have to breathe.” He gingerly sits next to Peter on the hospital bed, rubs a soothing hand over his back, and the boy shudders through another sob. 

“It’s just so hard. It’s so hard, nobody told me it would be this hard,” Peter sniffles, his voice muffled by his hands and Tony can’t help it. He pulls the kid close, carding fingers through his hair, whispering softly, “you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

Peter leans into Tony, and Tony’s throat feels raw, wanting nothing more than to steal every ounce of grief from him. Peter buries his head into Tony’s chest, hiccuping sobs and Tony squeezes the both of them onto the twin sized mattress, making a note to get bigger beds in the medical bay. 

For a long time, Peter doesn’t say anything, just lets Tony coax him back into breathing. When Peter finally speaks, it’s barely a whisper. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark.” 

“Kid, you’ve got nothing to apologize for,” Tony murmurs, pressing a soft kiss against Peter’s forehead. “I’m sorry I didn’t—I should’ve known something was up. I shouldn’t have kissed you on the balcony tonight, we should’ve talked first.” 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Peter says, before taking a sharp breath. “S-sorry. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“I just want to help, kid. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.” 

“If I tell you what I did, you won’t look at me the same again Mr. Stark, and I just can’t—I can’t lose you again.” Peter tenses in his arms, and sounds small, far-away. 

“Listen to me, kid. You’re not going to lose me.” Tony leans against the pillows, and Peter sits up with him, their legs still entangled. “I know it wasn’t your fault. Quentin Beck was a sociopath, I’ve read the files.” Tony can’t keep his voice from cracking, “But you called me _ Mr. Beck _tonight, Peter. I just want to know what we’re dealing with. Because whatever it is, I’m with you. I’m not leaving your side, sweetheart. I want to help you get better.“

“_Tony,_” Peter chokes out, turning to press a soft kiss to Tony’s lips. It’s gentle, and Tony hopes Peter can taste the thousand _iloveyou_s on Tony’s tongue. 

“Do you feel good enough to walk? We can continue this up in the penthouse. I’ll even have the kitchen whip up some sundaes.” 

Peter nods, giving Tony a weak smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Only if we can also split an order of fries.”

+

Two and a half Banana Sundaes and an immeasurable amount of fries later, Tony kisses the corner of Peter’s mouth, licking away the salt and chocolate. They trade languid kisses, sitting on the couch, taking a breath to stare out at the city lights through the floor to ceiling windows. Peter leans against Tony, their fingers loosely intertwining. Tony’s drawing nonsensical shapes into Peter’s bicep when Peter finally begins to talk. 

“I thought I was going to die,” Peter says, barely above a whisper. “When he found me after the train hit me. It didn’t kill me but I was badly hurt and when I woke up, trying to get off at the earliest station. He was waiting for me. I tried to fight him, but the drones were too fast and eventually everything went black again. The next time I woke up I was in a jail cell, somewhere underground. 

“The bars were made out of Vibranium. I couldn't even use my super strength to crawl out. It was easy to lose track of time the first few days. I didn’t know why he caught me. I’d already told him who else knew about his plan. He didn’t need me, he could’ve killed me. I didn’t know what else I could give.” Tony squeezes Peter’s hand, pulling him closer. “He would send the drones into my cell and I’d have to fight them but they would always stop if I was too hurt. He would scream through the speakers, taunting me every time I couldn’t get back up. Sometimes I thought of giving up, but there was food and water. He wanted me alive. I didn’t know why until he told me his master plan, after I’d finally beaten one of the drones.” 

“Peter—you don’t have to tell me everything at once,” Tony cuts in, feeling the boy’s pulse jump in his wrist. 

“I-I-I want to, Mr. Stark. I need to get it out.” Peter brushes a tear from his cheek, sniffling. 

“He wanted to kill you, Mr. Stark. He knew you were going to survive, had somehow gotten access to the latest updates on your coma. He wanted me to help kill you, to break into the Tower and hack into FRIDAY’s network since EDITH was a separate program and didn’t have complete access as long as you were alive.”

Tony shivers, feels a wave of nausea overtake him. Peter unflinchingly continues.

“I said no, of course. Knowing you were getting better was the only thing keeping me alive, keeping me fighting. I knew I had to get back to you, and you trusted me. He was furious and I realized too late he would stop at nothing to get me to agree to his plan.”

“Oh God,” Tony whispers, and even though Peter’s silently crying, the words find their way out. 

“The first time it happened I thought it was a dream because — because he used _ you. _ He had the voice down and everything, I woke up and my body, it didn’t know how to fight back because it was you. It was _ you. _It’d been so long and I was so tired so I let my guard down, I let him get close but the second it started — I knew it wasn’t you —even though it sounded like you and — you wouldn’t — you wouldn’t have touched me like that, like you were trying to kill me and fuck me at the same time.”

Peter stops for a second, as if the memory had become a little too tangible and chokes down a sob. When he continues, his voice wavers. “The first few times I fought back, I screamed and yelled, but he had the drones put vibranium handcuffs on me and he tore through my suit. There was never any prep, and he didn’t always use your face, but most of the times he did. He would always tell me I had a choice. That it didn’t have to be this way, that I could just kill you and he’d walk away, let me go, and he wouldn’t even kill my friends. I just had to choose.” Peter chokes back a sob, “But the thing was I didn’t care how humiliated, how less than a person I felt because I chose you everytime, Mr. Stark. You almost died to save me, and I couldn’t, I wouldn’t lose you again. I’d always choose you. You have to know.” 

Tony doesn’t know what to say, so he kisses Peter, he pulls the boy onto his lap and holds him for a long moment. This boy, this beautiful boy, who gave up so much, without blinking, and would do it again in a heartbeat. Tony hates Beck for turning their love against him, for making it a hard, gnarled thing, one which was used to hurt Peter over and over again, without his consent. 

“I’m so sorry baby, I’m so sorry.” Tony whispers, crying with Peter. 

“I didn’t tell anyone, because he was dead. I killed him. It shouldn’t matter. I just thought I could run away from it. Boston is nothing like Prague. But I couldn’t. I hear his voice everywhere, and when you woke up I freaked out. I didn’t know how to tell you without disgusting you and ruining everything we’ve ever had.” 

“You’re not disgusting, Peter. You’re brave. You’re the bravest man I know.” 

“I’m not brave, Tony. There was nothing heroic about what happened, I gave in. I stopped fighting. I just let him take until he eventually forgot to handcuff me one time and I had a chance to escape. I feel like a part of me died in that cell, and after you woke up, I thought it was the part of me that you loved. The nightmares were so bad, and drinking helped. I slept around, I tried anything to get him out of my system. But nothing was working, and I didn’t know how to tell you. ” 

Tony holds Peter’s face, looks at the tired eyes, the sharp mouth, and takes in the heartbreaking beauty of someone who has lived and lost so much. 

“Listen to me kid, you’re going to survive this. We’re going to survive this. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I know you feel like a part of you died after what Beck did and I can’t even imagine what that feels like but you’re still alive. You’re still living, and you’re here now. In front of me. You made your way back,” Tony says, speaking reverently, hoping at least some of his words sink into Peter’s skin. “I know you don’t feel like it, but you are _ brave. _ You went through something no one should ever have to go through just because you refused to stand down from what you believe in. You saved my life, Peter. Everyday in that cell, you chose to _ save my life _instead of saving your own. I’m not going anywhere. Whatever you need to get through this, whether it be medication, therapy, taking a semester off at MIT, we’ll make it happen. I’m not leaving, kid. I never was. We have time, we have so much time.” 

“We have time,” Peter repeats, taking a soft breath. Tony kisses his forehead, holding him tightly and whispers, “I love you, kid. We have so much time.” 

Over the horizon, against the glittering dark of the city, the sun begins to rise. 


End file.
